6 Things Justin Russo Has Never Done
by omens
Summary: Until know, Justin had always thought he possessed a little bit of moral fiber. For Kat.


**Name:** Chris

**Title:** 6 Things Justin Russo Has Never Done (Unlike His Sister)

**Fandom:** Wizards of Waverly Place

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** T just to be safe, but when incest is involved, it's hard to say really.

**Summary:** Until know, he'd always thought he possessed a little bit of moral fiber. [Justin/Alex] For Kat.

…0…

_i. broken the rules_

Like always, Alex has done something she shouldn't and he has to clean up the mess. The only difference this time is that there wasn't any magic involved.

When their parents find her sneaking Dean out of the sub station before breakfast there are the expected shouts, tears, and door slams heard throughout the loft.

"Think she's grounded?" Max asks. Eating in the lair on the norm is strictly verboten, but something tells him that today isn't going to be the day that his parents place a lot of emphasis on that particular rule.

"I think," he tells his brother, "she'll be lucky if she doesn't wind up in a convent for the next three years."

"What's in three years?"

Justin doesn't answer (in part to avoid saying 'duh') due to the loud stomping they hear above their heads. Alex has gotten her punishment it seems, and is not a bit happy about it. And yeah, there's the slamming of her bedroom door they knew was coming.

It falls on him, as the oldest and most level headed of the Russo children, to play mediator between his sister and their parents. She can get away with a lot of things-and has, too numerous to mention, but this is not an ordinary situation. Magic is one thing. Magic can be fixed. Boys are a whole different story.

…0…

He walks into her room (unlocked, probably an order) and finds her lying face down on her comforter, muffling her sniffles against the pink fabric.

There have been too many times to count that Justin has wished that there were only two Russo children, or that numero tres was another boy. Having a sister has done little more in his life than cause untold annals of chaos and trouble. Those are the moments that he's prayed for a divine salvation that never came.

Then there are those other times.

Call it the big brother curse; he sees Alex crying and all he wants to do is fix it. That's what big brothers do. When their little sisters jump off the Waverly Place Community Park swings and twist their ankles, the duty of carrying her five blocks home while she drips her ice cream (his allowance money) down the front of his Pokemon shirt, falls on him.

She's in the wrong here and they all know it. Yet the fact does nothing to quell that part of him calling out to patch things up and make it better.

"Alex…"

"Nothing happened," she mumbles, and her voice cracks with tears and she hiccups a bit. "We fell asleep down there, that's all." Rolling over and propping herself up on her elbows, she implores him with her watery eyes to trust in what she's saying. "Justin, you have to believe me."

"I do." And he does. Vividly, he remembers the day he called her a liar and took in the pain marring her big brown eyes. Sure he felt like dirt, but he was angry. At her. It was just a lapse in expressing that anger. He can see the difference in her now though. When Alex is hiding something you can see it in her eyes. Well, not everyone, but he can and her eyes are glassy with tears, and sadder than he can ever remember. It makes his chest hurt.

"Dad's never been so angry with me. He wouldn't even let me explain what happened." She's hugging her old ratty bear to her chest, eyes downcast. She looks suddenly like a little girl.

His hand finds its way to her shoulder, rubbing a soft circular motion to soothe her. Justin feels more than hears her sobs subside.

When she does look back up at him, something is different in her expression. Her entire face has opened up; she's so grateful to have him believe her that it's shocking, to see such a display of naked emotion on his sister's face, enough to almost knock him flat.

"I'll uh," he stutters (WTF?) "I'll talk to Mom. Maybe if I can convince her, we can work on Dad."

"Thank you, Justin." Her arms are tight around his neck, and her hair is in his face smelling of something sweet and girly. He inhales deeply. Alex's lips press against his cheek-just a little chapped from crying-and he finds himself following her when she pulls away. Completely subconscious.

And it freaks him the hell out.

Justin bolts, closing her door as quickly as he can and still be quiet. What. The. Hell. Was that? His breathing's a little more ragged than it was before and his heart is thudding so hard against inside his ribcage he's terrified it will break free from his chest and land right there on the carpet.

Is he imaging things? He has to be. There is no reason on Earth why he would be reluctant to have Alex break her grip on him. None at all.

Right?

…0…

Their dad is not budging. Justin isn't really surprised. This is his little girl they're talking about here.

Teresa has a little more faith in Alex and when Justin vouches for her innocence, she buys it. Maybe it's because she wants to trust in her daughter, maybe because she does trust her first born. At any rate, she does. But not Jerry.

"Thanks for trying," Alex says like it's a peace offering perhaps.

Things between them have shifted. Had he known that all it would take to have Alex stop treating him like the biggest bore to ever come out of Manhattan was to champion her innocence in just one more in a long line of things Alex Russo Has Done Even Though She Knew Better…he would have, right?

Justin likes being right. Likes being the good child, the golden boy. Yes, Alex is the only girl, but he's the responsible one. The one that listens. The one who is going to make his parents proud someday. They all know that.

In the same way, they all know that whenever Alex-or less often, Max-screws up he's going to be the first one she runs to. Sometimes it's reluctantly, others begrudgingly and full of resentment at how much he enjoys it. ("The words you're looking for are Help. Me.") Because he is the responsible one. Because he's the straight laced, by the book, older brother who rights the wrongs.

Because Justin follows the guidelines of society and morality, with the unwavering faith that things should be that certain way.

That was before he thought about the possibility that Alex was lying to him about what had really happened down there in the Sub Station after everyone else was asleep and he put his fist through the wall by his bed.

Worse than breaking the rules is breaking a taboo. Like the gut wrenching realization that the bloody knuckles are a direct result of blinding jealousy. Jealousy. About his sister.

What now?

_ii. lied_

Truth be told, there was a time that Justin Russo adored his sister.

Justin's favorite book of all time is The Great Gatsby. His grandmother found a first edition once at a rummage sale in Lauderdale and sent him. Alex messes with a lot of his stuff, but that's one item she steadfastly avoids. Justin's glad. Stuffed in the back is the only picture taken of him and his sister that wasn't forced or staged, when he was seven and she was five and they spent all their time together.

About the same time Justin decided books were more fun than playing pretend with his little sister things between them changed, evolving into what they played into for years.

He misses her sometimes.

Ironically enough, she's the first one to notice the scrape marks on his hand. "Did one of your dolls pick a fight with you or something?"

"Action figures," he corrects automatically.

His mother takes a more direct (and angry) approach. "What happened to your wall?"

He slipped, he says. On his rug and his hand got twisted in his attempt to catch himself. No one questions the fact that he would have had to hit hard to make a hole that size but he does catch Alex's eyes and notes the way they seem to stay on him for a while, underneath eyebrows scrunched in contemplation maybe? Confusion? Justin squirms in his seat under her scrutiny.

…0…

Two days later, Justin sees Alex talking to Dean in the North stairway when she's supposed to be in Algebra. Neither of them seem to be worried that he's caught them.

"Sup, Justin?" Dean tosses at him, cocking his head just so in that way that he's heard Alex and Harper talking about in her room late at night. "Alex says you're gonna help us out." Justin wants nothing more than to twist that arm away from his sister's shoulder right then.

He doesn't obviously.

What he does do is grab hold of Alex's wrist and pull her down from the steps and down the hallway.

"Justin!" She jerks away from him, fire in her eyes. "I thought you were on my side."

"I am." With his eyes he begs her to believe him. Hell, he needs her to believe if for no other reason than to convince himself. "If dad finds out about this-"

How, she questions. "How is he going to find out?" Big eyes narrowing into slits (just like their mom when she's angry, oh God) tells him that she's beyond pissed right now. "Unless somebody tells him." She flounces off and leaves him there alone with this bad taste in his mouth and guilt churning in his stomach-among other things.

He did promise her after all.

…0…

Magic lessons with Alex have always been difficult, but this was ridiculous bordering on maddening.

And when she 'accidentally' spills her potion on his leg (hot) he doesn't even have it in him anymore to get angry with her. Their dad does. "Dishes. Two weeks."

Alex pouts. From the corner of his eye he studies the curve of her lip jutting out. Max has to nudge his side in order for Justin to realize that their dad is talking to him. "Uh…dragon root?" Lucky guess.

It happened again, at dinner. Him noticing things he shouldn't be. A sister wasn't who you looked at, conscious of the way her dark hair frames the slope of her cheekbones. She wasn't the person who made you wonder what it would be like to run your hands down her spine, learning the lines of her body. She's the person you want to strangle when your school books go missing the night before a midterm. Who short sheets your bed after you let it slip that she got in after curfew the night before.

When he wakes up at three am with his hair sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps, tangled in his sheets from a dream he should never have had, he finally owns up to the truth of why Justin has never wanted Dean Moriarty **anywhere** near his sister.

_iii. asked for help_

Justin's not complicated. He knows that. There's no teenage rebellion lying under the surface of his determination, no rage underlying the ambition. He sees his reflection in the mirror and knows exactly the meaning of 'what you see is what you get' with his argyle sweaters and straightforward smile.

Certainly he never expected he had something like **this** lurking inside of him. Its so…not him.

It's wrong is what it is-and needs to be fixed. Like, pronto. And Justin is an expert when it comes to fixing problems that his sister has caused him.

Alex is never going to apologize for her reaction in the hallway. Justin believes that she knows he was looking out for her. She's less hostile at any rate.

Once it seems like their dad is letting up a little (she's allowed out of his sight now) Justin offers up some advice. "Try to avoid Dean for a few weeks. Dad might be over it by then."

She pulls a note out of her locker, and yes he was watching, and he sidles up behind to her to warn not to do anything stupid-like sneak off to meet Dean somewhere now that Jerry is cooling off.

She scoffs. "Like I'd do that."

He gives her a look they are both all too familiar with. It says plainly that she's not fooling anyone so she admits it. "You're right. I so would." He gives her another look, trying not to let on how much he wants to smile at her smile. "Fine. I won't."

Its for her own good.

…0…

He thinksthis feeling (like someone has tied his insides like double knotted shoelaces) is just an abundance of guilt. This sweaty-palmed, fluttery stomach, always distracted, feeling comes from these ideas wafting through his head that should make his skin crawl.

But they don't. And that just creeps him out.

Justin deduces that he needs to get rid of them. Now.

He tries logic.

Its just like when little kids play doctor. A natural curiosity. Sadly, his experience in the girl department leads much to be desired and he fixated on the closest available specimen that he's around, um, way too much. Nothing strange about it. It'll go away eventually and then Justin will be able to look at Alex with the same sense of bemused superiority he always has.

Then he refuses to hand over the remote for another Hills marathon and she practically attacks him to get it. Attack as in, almost entirely on top of him.

Logic goes out the window and he flees upstairs.

He attempts magic.

Memory spells are tempting, but it lacks the guarantee of no reoccurrence, and the possible side effects are too much for even someone who's actually got a decent hold on magic to attempt without qualm. Love spells, anti-love spells…he's not that desperate and it is just **so not like that**.

Besides, giving her warts and other things of the like is way beneath him. And Max is used to being grounded. Justin will take him to a ballgame to make it up to him.

So he turns to religion.

It seems like a good idea at the time. Justin is the only one that still goes to church with his mother every so often. Not enough that he'd actually call himself a churchgoer per say, but enough that, you know, it helps.

The priest that is on duty in the confessional today (he doesn't even know his name) has a deep, rich voice and sounds like a grandfather, all kind and understanding when he asks him what's on his mind.

Justin shifts and squirms, and he knows the father can see him or at least his shadow, as he struggles for the right words to say.

How does he do this and not make himself sound like a freak?

"Take your time."

That helps. A little.

"I uh," he begins with discomfort raging through every nerve ending in his body. "I've been having these…strange thoughts-feelings-lately…about someone I shouldn't." Man, he's probably gonna think Justin's gay unless he actually says it.

"Go on."

Justin takes a deep breath, trying to steel all the courage he's built up in the last seventeen years in order to actually say it. Admit it.

"I think I'm falling for…"

"Yes…?"

A beat. He screws his eyes shut, says in a pained voice, "My sister."

He's met with silence. "Father?"

There's the sound of a throat clearing and it doesn't take Einstein to know that he's seriously weirded the priest out now. Great.

"Yes, well, that is a problem, isn't it?"

No kidding.

"Did you, ahem, did you just meet this…sister?" he asks.

God. Is this worse than he thought? "Um, no."

Even though the priest doesn't exactly say that Justin is a sick bastard, he knows he's thinking it by the tone of his voice as he recites scripture verses that he supposes are intended to help.

_None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin_; Leviticus18:6. Yeah. He's already looked that one up. It's written on a slip of paper in his shirt pocket.

Is he physically and mentally able to do penance for his sins? Yes. But the question kind of sticks in his craw. Justin hasn't actually committed a sin, has he? There hasn't been, nor will there be as far as he's concerned, any action on these thoughts. All the Hail Mary's and rosaries in the world aren't going to help something that hasn't even happened.

He's already in his own personal kind of Hell; seeing the person he wants desperately everyday and knowing he can never, **ever** have her. Knowing that if he could, he'd condemn the both of them.

…0…

Her name is Juliet. She's tall and blonde and has the lithe, lean build of a dancer.

Physically, she's the antithesis of everything he's striving so hard to forget. Obvious, sure, but if it does the trick who is he to complain?

He can't. Not even when Alex makes numerous digs about her name and calls him Romeo then there's something about tights and poison but he's not really listening, being too busy watching a stray curl flop its way out of her hair clip along her temple.

They meet at a bookstore on Bleeker Street and she hands over her number within five minutes. It's a personal best. (Secret? He wasn't trying that hard and she seemed just a tad bit eager.)

The date is a total disaster. Justin was so distracted by the fact that Alex had lingered in the bathroom doorway while he was getting ready, more so than usual when he has plans, questioning him and teasing and just generally tying his stomach in knots.

"Just don't do anything dorky like, well like being you." She grins and disappears from sight, leaving him alone in his confusion and dread.

Never before has Justin felt dread at the prospect of an evening with a beautiful girl.

Maybe because it's the wrong beautiful girl.

…0…

Can she be frank, Juliet asks about an hour into a very quiet dinner. It doesn't seem like he's all that interested in the evening. She's not insulted, she assures him as he stumbles over the apologetic words tumbling from his mouth like water, just a little disappointed.

He walks her home, because his mother raised him a gentleman and that's just what you do, and it's ten times more awkward than the way there when she had babbled on and on about dancing and movies and where they were going to be eating. Now that she knows all the idle chatter in the world isn't going to engage him, she's dead silent. So is he. And it's all so painfully quiet.

_None of you may approach any that is near of kin_. Justin holds the paper in his palm on the way home, repeating the words to himself over and over in his head, willing these damnable thoughts to disappear as quickly as they manifested.

That's pointless of course, he knows that. When, given the chance, has his sister ever made things easy for him and given up the chance to entirely upend his life?

_iv. admitted he was wrong_

He knows now that this isn't something that's simply just going to go away. He accepts it. It's not as if he's got much of a choice.

Obviously, if there were the option of snapping his fingers and having all this evaporate like smoke, he would do it in a heartbeat. That's not an option, unfortunately. There's only him and these thoughts and the guilt churning in his stomach whenever he looks at his sister now, where before there was the all too familiar feelings of annoyance and dread of chaos.

Had this been a problem of any other nature, Justin would have attempted to solve it-whatever means necessary. And had it to do with school, with magic, he would have succeeded. But feelings aren't something like guys like to contend with. Especially teenage guys. Even more so that these thoughts are enough to cause a priest twice his age to loose his composure.

It trickles across his brain that Alex would have been proud of rendering a man of the cloth dumbstruck like he had.

…0…

Everything hits home for Justin when he arrives back at the loft..

The entire place is silent, shrouded in darkness, and eerily unfamiliar with the moonlight streaking across the wooden floorboards in a crisscross pattern from the dining room window.

He had no idea that he'd walked around the city so long. Had no idea what time it was.

The only thing he is conscious of in that moment is Alex asleep on the couch, looking peaceful and doll-like, making his heart hammer in his chest.

Yes. He was decidedly going to Hell.

Because it's then, in the darkness of the room where they've shared so many family moments, that he admits to himself what he truly wants; to place his hands on Alex's terra cotta skin, skimming this way and that until he knows every bend and curve of her tiny frame, to kiss her and let their breaths mingle until there's only one breath between the two of them.

Images begin to beat against his brain-very unbrotherly images-so quickly that at first he doesn't notice Alex beginning to stir from sleep. "Justin?"

Starting, and beginning to sweat a little, he runs a hand through his hair in hopes it will both clear his mind and hide his discomfort. "What are you doing down here?"

"I feel asleep obviously," she replies, grouchy edge to her sleep veiled voice. The clock chimes in signal of the hour and he watches her eyes shoot to it. "Why were you out so late?"

He can't tell her, can't bear the look of horror in in her eyes if she were ever to find out the truth of what's kept him out till three a.m.

Alex must know that there's something else going on behind the front of his date. She studies him in his silence as if she knows there's a hidden truth he's withholding from her. Gazes locked in a stalemate, Justin tries not to fidget under his sister's scrutiny while simultaneously using the makeshift stare-down as an excuse to look at her-really look at her. He feels his blood heat, the sensation to a degree unlike anything he's ever experienced before. Justin finds himself entertaining, for the briefest of moments, the idea of walking over and allowing himself to kiss her. It was one of those fleeting, foolish thoughts that came and went routinely every day-like perhaps leaping from the rooftop to see what flying felt like. The kind of thing you wondered about, maybe even longed to have a go at, but knew better than to actually attempt.

"Goodnight, Alex."

…0…

She makes it a point to tell their parents over breakfast how late Justin was the night before. Everyone (even Max) sees it for what it is; an attempt to get some of the heat off herself by casting the light onto someone else. Justin thinks there's a touch of revenge thrown in for good measure.

He's grounded for a week. Alex insists it's not fair, and he's getting special treatment simply on the grounds of being a boy.

He offers to serve two weeks. No one is really surprised. They may act like it, sure, but in all honesty, Justin tries his best to avoid altercations with Alex whenever possible. She seeks them out, he serves as good as he gets, then she seeks him out to set everything right. But he doesn't start it. Ever.

And he won't start this either.

…0…

The world around Justin seems to be mocking him.

Being that it's Saturday, he's decided to just hole himself up in his room until tomorrow when he'll go back to church with his mother and pray for salvation. For now, he wants to take his mind off things.

His books have been read and reread so many times that the chances of them keeping him invested enough to detract from the idea of Alex's room one wall away is slim to none. And the books his mother put on his shelf, books she's read and isn't quite ready to part with, seem to only add to his problem. The Mists of Avalon. Flowers in the Attic. Of course.

The radio isn't much better. Every flick of the dial reminds him of what he's agonizing over.

_When your want from the day makes you to curse in your sleep at night._

Click

_How do we ever keep this secret, how do we keep it in the dark?_

Click.

_But I could never call you mine, cause I could never call myself yours._

Click.

_You probably think I've lost my mind, takin' this chance crossin' that line.  
_

Click.

_Slow down, you crazy child. You're so ambitious for a juvenile._

Click.

_It's damned if you don't and it's damned if you do.  
_

Frustrated, he picked the small radio up from his night table and threw it against the wall, watching as it shattered into pieces that he easily could have put back together better than new-not that he cared to. But at least it gave him something to do.

"What was that?"

Alex appears in his doorway, pajama top askew to reveal one shoulder almost completely. It takes all the willpower he posses not to groan out loud at the universe's torment of him. She's brushed her hair, and it glistens under the lights in his room, a stark contrast against the unmade up skin of her face.

She's beautiful. Achingly, infuriatingly, untouchably beautiful.

It's just not fair.

"I'm busy, Alex." Justin scoops the pieces up, arranging them on his bed. He hopes that'll she take the hint, find him so boring, that she'll leave and he can be allowed to wallow in peace.

He feels her hesitate in the door, watching him work. Knowing her as he does, it's easy to deduces what's running through that devious little head of hers. "Don't even think of charming this radio."

She scoffs and harrumphs before stomping over to her own room, door slamming just as he snaps the final piece in place and the radio jumps to life.

_You put the boom-boom into my heart. _

Great.

_v. _ _made a life altering mistake_

Max comes down with the flu the next weekend. The same day their grandmother breaks her leg.

Teresa and Jerry give them three orders; take care of Max, don't kill each other, and no guests in the loft. They can close the sub shop for one weekend, and they'll make a bank run before their flight out West.

Two seconds after the front door closes Alex calls Dean and arranges to meet him at the movies.

"Alex-"

Her phones snaps shut. "Oh come on, Justin," she says. "Mom and Dad are gone for two whole days. Can't you just lighten up for once?"

This is that make or break moment he's been waiting for. He can man up and tell her exactly what he thinks of Dean and the entire mess that started all of this nonsense, or he can punk out and call their folks.

His own phone is open, finger set on the quick dial within seconds.

Heart in his throat, Justin watches her face fill with rage and she stamps her foot in sullen indignation. "Sometimes I really wish you weren't my brother." And she storms upstairs.

"Get in line."

He knows she can't hear him. Knows she'll never understand him.

…0…

Justin plants himself on the couch in case Max needs anything from the kitchen. It doesn't hurt that he has a prime view of both ways out of the loft.

But Alex hasn't come back downstairs all day. She's stayed upstairs, blasting her music all day. Lucky for them both Max can sleep through anything.

He makes sandwiches for lunch, which she refuses. He orders pizza for dinner-with pineapple even though he hates it. Still she won't open her door.

Max can't keep down anything solid so most of the food ends up in Tupperware in the fridge for later. It's around midnight when he hears rustling sounds in the kitchen only to find Alex gorging herself like it's the Last Supper.

"It was better when it was hot."

"Pizza's always better cold," she says around a mouthful of pepperoni and pineapple. Yuck. Alex logic never makes sense to him. She dips her crust into a jar of peanut butter and takes a huge bite.

"That is seriously disgusting." He sits on the barstool across from her nicks a pepperoni from the box.

She swats his hand away. "Who said you're forgiven?"

"Who said I need forgiving?" he shoots back.

Rolling her eyes, she hides a smirk behind another slice.

For a second, things in the Russo household feels normal again for Justin.

…0…

Harper calls around noon the next day and shatters the allusion he had built up in his head from the night before.

Jodi Simons is the most notorious flirt in school, and it seems that with Alex out of the picture she's decided to set her sights on Dean. Harper saw them 'talking' outside the Arcade on Canal Street and Alex knew thirty seconds later.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demands as her hand encircles the doorknob. "You heard what Dad said."

"Yeah, yeah, grounded till I'm married, blah, blah." She keeps her hand on the door, but her expression clearly says that she's going whether he likes it or not. "If we don't tell him, then he's never going to have to go through all that trouble of yelling and that vein in in his forehead won't pop out in that gross way-"

"Alex."

"Please, Justin."

And there it is; that pleading, soft tone of voice that has never once failed to melt any inhibitions he may have about her scheme du jour. That voice has always, without fail, turned Justin Russo into putty in his sister's hands.

And she knows it. She just doesn't like to use it unless necessary. It's not as fun as the pure, unadulterated torment she prefers to inflict on him.

Her eyes are pleading with him, begging him almost. His stomach flips over. And then Max yells for him.

Justin tosses her a jacket.

_vi. gotten caught_

The running of the shower muffles the sounds of the TV Justin left blaring downstairs, the sound of Max snoring next door, the sound of the traffic in the streets below.

Maybe he was listening for it, but he heard the front door closing as clearly as if it he were standing right in front of it. He's never gotten dressed so quickly in his life.

He sees that something is wrong right away. A gallon of Chunky Monkey ice cream is on the coffee table and Alex's cell phone is beside it, ringing unanswered, while she stuffs spoonfuls into her mouth. Uh oh.

"Man, you still used that scented body wash that smells like pine trees?"

He rubs the towel vigorously over his head as he makes his way around the couch. "Hey, the ladies love it."

"Lady squirrels maybe," she says. She settles into the couch, her feet ending up on the coffee table-something she can actually get away with when their mother isn't home. Her boots are lying a few feet away, so he knows she's in for the night.

"Is everything…okay? With Dean?" He sits beside her, eyeing her profile and the way her eyelashes curl upward, so long, and how they cast shadows on her cheeks when she looks down at her spoon.

Shrugging her shoulders, Alex finally lets her eyes land on his face, allowing him to see her red-rimmed eyes surrounded by smudged eye makeup.

Justin is a strong believer in non-violence, in the words of wisdom handed down by Gandhi and Martin Luther King. But if he could get his hands on Dean at this moment, he would have to rethink that policy.

Tentatively, he places his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Alex." She covers it with her own for just the shortest of seconds before stretching out lengthwise on the couch, her toes brushing against his thigh.

"Yeah, well, his loss."

In all honesty, Justin thinks he knows his sister better than anyone else does. She probably thinks she's fooling him by acting like whatever happened wasn't really affecting her, but he knew better.

She's hurting, but only the people who truly knew her, truly cared about her, would know. He wants to help her, but doesn't know how.

"Yeah, it is."

The words slip out before he even realizes he's said anything at all. It's only when Alex's eyes widen in surprise that it dawns on him that the words running through his mind actually came out of his mouth.

She's shocked, and Justin doesn't blame her. In all likelihood, she had probably been expecting him to saw something crass or condescending about her worthwhile as a catch.

Only…

His voice isn't remotely teasing. She looks back at him, studies the compassion in his gaze, no doubt of his true meaning. Her eyes widen, and fill with confusion before she glances away. When her eyes raise up to his again something is different. There's a knowing look that he can't remember seeing on her face before.

There's a smart aleck comment in there somewhere that Alex would be able to pinpoint, but now is not the time for it.

If she knows, he's not sure, but there's definitely a vibe in the air that hadn't been there before. 'Something there that wasn't there before,' like out of that movie she used to make everyone watch over and over again. At any rate, she pulls back, unwinds herself from her relaxed posture and stares intently into his eyes.

Justin Russo loves his sister. There has never been any doubt in his mind about that. This moment, here on their couch of a shared past, he gets it; as if the heavens above have opened up to shine a beacon on the truth. Justin has always loved Alex, loved her like no one else in his life. She frustrates him, and provokes his ire, and all too often he would rather strangle her than to speak to her, but he loves her. That simple.

Everything else is inconsequential.

…0…


End file.
